Call Me Son
by Arishia-chan
Summary: Kenji is kidnaped, and a grown-up Yahiko sets out for Kyoto to find him, knowing that Kenshin - unstable health failing - is just a few steps ahead of him. But when Kenshin tracks down the fourteen-year-old, he discovers something he didn't expect.


Call Me Son - An Rurouni Kenshin Fanfic

::sigh:: Yep, I wrote another RK fic and this one will be my last. The only reason I wrote this fic was to basically close out my own feelings for the series - mainly the new Seishouhen OAV. So if you haven't seen it yet, there may be a few spoilers for you.

I tried to squeeze this fic into the OAV setting somehow, but I'm not sure if I managed to do that. ^^ I didn't really care to rip apart my plot in order to make it canon (seeing as how the OAV isn't competely canon itself anyway). I think it may fit somewhere near the end of the OAV, about a year before Kenshin comes home for the final time. Something like that...

Anyhoo, hope you enjoy. I know I did writing it and putting my frustrations on paper...

  


***

  


The whispers of gray smoke did little to lighten his mood.

The man balanced the thin cigarette between two fingers with practiced ease and calm familiarity, reclining back in his chair. Another day, another murder, he thought dryly, raising the newspaper to eye level so he could comfortably read the headlines. A woman had been robbed and beaten again last night, the third such incident of the week. Well, he just might have to find the crook and lock him up to ease the people's minds.

How dull. He really needed to be transferred.

"Sir, there is someone here to see you," called the guard from outside.

"Who is it?" he muttered, flipping to the next crisp page. He had no appointments this early, that he recalled.

"He won't give me his name, sir. Now really, young man, is that any way to– " There was a commotion from the hall, the sounds of skidding feet and someone falling over. The door to his office was thrown open.

"You don't have permission to go in there!" the guard cried, scrambling into the room.

The man set his jaw, thin lips turned down irritably. So much shouting. The newspaper blocked his view; he couldn't see the cause of the noise.

"I'm sorry, sir. I'll call security at once."

Two hands slammed upon his desk. "Are you Goru Fujita?" the intruder demanded. A young voice, not bruised by age.

"Yes," the man answered without moving the paper. "What of it?'

"I need to speak to you."

The guard protested but was cut off smoothly. "Obviously." He took a long, slow drag from the cigarette, feeling the other's impatience, and lowered the newspaper. He landed two narrow, gold eyes on the intruder and widened them slightly. "Obviously," he said again under his breath. "Though there are better ways of getting my attention than disrupting my morning."

The other met his sharp gaze, not flinching. "Maybe I should come back later then." His tone suggested that this would not be at all welcome.

He folded his paper and laid it aside, tapped the cigarette above an ashtray. "You're already here, so why not continue? Leave us," he told the guard, who frowned but did as he requested. "Now, tell me who you are."

The other straightened, arms crossing over his blue-clothed chest. "I think you know already."

"That's presuming a lot."

"Don't you?"

"You want something from me, that I can see." Golden eyes closed. "You're an awfully long way from home."

The young man stiffened just slightly. "I was already near Kyoto when I heard of you." He turned toward the door. "If you don't want to help me, then I can find someone else who will."

"Hasty, aren't we?" Standing, he walked over to the door, glanced outside it, and then shut it securely. "Now, what is it that you think I can accomplish for you?"

"I need someone kidnaped."

"Oh? This is a police station, you do realize."

The other reddened, then carefully blanked his face. "You have contacts."

"This also isn't a yakuza."

"If you don't want to help, then say so." The young man tossed out the words, challenging, betting on the grasp he needed.

The man allowed himself a small smirk. "Down to the point, I see. You remind me of someone else I once knew."

"Don't compare me to him," the youth hissed, eyes flashing.

"Oh?" The smirk broadened, creasing one corner of his mouth as he soaked up the other's discomfort and anger. "Tell me why, fledgling, why you want to step into this dark avenue."

The answer was simple.

"To bring one out of the shadows. To bring one back."

Hours later, after he had given the young man his contacts, after the other had left to begin the task, he sat in his office and watched the bustling city of Kyoto. Maybe he did not need to be transferred to find some excitement after all. Maybe he need not step out of his own office. Though the young man had called him by name, Goru Fujita the policeman had no reason to assist this kidnaping.

Saitou puffed once on his cigarette and ground it into the ashtray.

But the former Wolf of Mibu had more reasons than he could count on one hand.

***

Myojin Yahiko walked along the dirt path, arms lazily crossed over and behind his head. Every so often he tapped the long, wrapped parcel strapped to his back, liking the tha-thump the hidden scabbard made against his fingernail as he kept in time with the tune he whistled.

He rather enjoyed evenings like this one. The sun was warm and the breeze cool, the sky an endless expanse of gray blue and white. He had just finished closing up the Akabeko with Tae and Tsubame . . . Though he now boarded at the beef pot restaurant – as a paying guest who worked for his keep – Yahiko took the time to wander a bit outside bustling inner Tokyo.

He stopped once by the stream easing its way between the sloping banks, leaned over the edge. His reflection gazed back at him, a man no longer a boy, possessing a shock of black hair and an average frame. The trim on his hakama was almost the same shade as the river. He twisted a little and bent his head, revealing the symbol switched beneath his collar.

"Aku," he said aloud to himself. Amused, he closed his eyes and smiled. "I haven't forgot yet." Straightening his shoulders, he continued down the path.

Eventually the stream curved away and vanished from sight, blocked by sakura trees full and green. He had walked between those trees many, many times, by himself or among past friends. They used to stroll through the falling pinkish white blossoms, together . . .

Sanosuke in the front, a fishtail protruding from his mouth, hands stuffed into his pants pockets.

Karou next, arms folded neatly though her tongue was always ready to strike, her eyes constantly flickering to the figure trailing behind them.

Kenshin calmly smiling. Kenshin gazing at the shower of petals, remembering whatever memory they conjured. Kenshin caught up in his own world a million hills away.

Of course, those times had passed long ago. Sanosuke had left soon after the birth of Kenshin and Karou's son, and Yahiko had only seen him twice since. And when Kenshin began traveling . . . Karou hardly stepped outside the dojo.

Yahiko kicked a rock using the toe of his thatch sandal. She hardly even stepped off the dojo's porch. He'd never get to see her if he didn't make these little excursions himself.

Coming to the front entrance, he could hear the tinkling of a chime. He considered knocking, but shrugged and just went on in. He'd lived here near six years, long enough to be familiar with the only person inhabiting the dojo now, and likely the old buso wouldn't hear him anyway.

He scuffed across the yard, making enough racket that he was sure she'd hear and poke out her dark-haired head. Instead, no one greeted him. He lightened his footsteps so he made almost no sound and listened for any movement inside the dojo. His ears were met by silence.

"Oi, Karou," he called. He wasn't too concerned yet as he made his way onto the porch, kicking off his shoes. "It's me."

The rice paper walls were shut save one panel that cast a slit of candlelight upon the floor. He peered through the gap, then pushed it open wider.

"Karou?"

She was huddled by the floor, halfway turned toward him. Her hair was unbound and bleeding into the shadows, stark against her cream sleeping kimono and pale face. Yahiko moved closer, cautious when he noticed the tense line of her body. A floorboard creaked under his foot and Karou jerked her head around, eyes wide.

"Yahiko . . ."

"What's the matter?" he asked, reaching her side. He knelt and touched her shoulder. "Are you hurt?"

"Yahiko," she said again through gritted teeth. "My son has . . ." What he had first though as fear – her trembling, wide eyes, and pale complexion – was really fierce anger. She clutched a paper in a white-knuckled fist. "My son has been kidnaped."

He stared, his concern for Karou melting away to disbelief. "What?"

"I received this letter today. It's not signed and has no address." She let him take the paper and in one quick sweep he had read the short message.

Yahiko frowned and clenched his fist. "'We have the son of Battousai.' What kind of ransom letter is this?"

"It's not a ransom letter." Karou's voice was laced with fury. "They made no demands. They don't want anything from _me_."

Yahiko felt chills come over him, a sudden realization. "Kenshin . . . Whoever kidnaped Kenji has a grudge against Kenshin."

Karou wrapped her arms round her body, shuddering. "I thought things like this were over," she murmured. "We've lived so peacefully for years now."

"Those bastards," he gritted. "I'll find them, Karou, I'll find Kenji."

"It's not Kenji I'm worried about." Her dark eyes moved into the distance, burning with a life that Yahiko had not seen in a long time. "I want to go with you."

He immediately argued. "You need to stay here in case anyone comes to the dojo or another letter arrives. And I can move faster by myself – it's easier to hide one person than two."

"You're right," she agreed, sighing. She watched him straighten and rose to her own feet, walking with him to the porch where he slipped on his sandals.

"I'm going to Kyoto first," he told her. "To where Kenji was last seen. If anything else happens, send a letter to Misao-chan and Hiko-sensei. I'm sure one of them could find me." Yahiko gave her a somewhat reassuring smile. "I'll make whoever kidnaped Kenji sorry they ever challenged us. After all," he added, patting the cloth-wrapped parcel on his back, "I still have this."

***

He liked sake. He liked sake _a lot_.

Hiko Seijurou raised the cup to his lips, letting the clear liquid flow past his mouth and burn its way down his throat. Sake had been his companion for over forty years; it was the only thing that stayed with the man and never decided to swell its head and run away.

He snorted and took another swallow. He also did not much care if people thought him a drunk. Sake did not stay long in his system and, though he had never shared a drink with Kenshin, he wagered it probably left his first student's body just as swiftly. Such was the curse of the Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu – he never could stay drunk.

It was near nightfall and the moon would not light up the darkness, hiding somewhere on the other side of the world. Hiko sat outside his small shack, resting on a log that faced a crackling fire and the rippling, gray stream.

He heard a twig snap behind him and leaned forward just as a sword swung over his head and cropped a few black hairs. Hiko unsheathed his own katana with one smooth motion and knocked away the other weapon, sending the assailant stumbling back onto the ground.

The Hiten master bent and picked up the other sword. His eyes narrowed as he examined the blade. "It's not very often that I'm attacked with the sakabatou."

The other picked himself off the ground, patting the dust from his hakama. "I almost got you, that time."

"Not quite." Hiko bowed his head irritably. "Why is it that my visitors always harass me first?"

"Habit," the intruder piped. He stepped into the firelight, ran a hand through his unruly hair. "Been a while, Hiko-sensei."

The man grunted and returned the sakabatou, hilt first, to its owner. Yahiko sheathed it with a clean, practiced motion. "You've grown since I last saw you."

"A bit," Yahiko admitted. "I should visit more often, but I feel bad leaving Karou in Tokyo alone."

Hiko seated himself on the log and poured a mouthful of sake. "If you're looking for my former apprentice, you won't find him here. Just missed him, actually."

Yahiko's eyebrows shot up within the jagged bangs of his hair. "_Kenshin_ was_ here_?"

"Yeah. Think he would sit by while his kid was missing?" The sword master snorted. "Without legs he would still drag himself here by his fingernails."

Slight hesitation. "How did he look?"

"Oh, about as angry as a traumatized nest of hornets." Hiko produced a folded paper from his clothes. "He had a letter similar to this one with him, though how the hell the one who took Kenji managed to send it to him is beyond me. So you got a letter too."

"Karou did." The young man examined the note. "Just like this one."

"It's not any surprise," Hiko said, frowning. "In order to target Kenshin, they would have to make sure he found out about his son."

"Hiko-sensei, Kenji was with you last, wasn't he?"

Hiko nodded, sipped his sake. The crackling fire rippled across his features hardened by age and experience. "He has been staying with me since he left his mother's dojo a few months ago, and I didn't have the heart to tell him to go back. But for the last weeks, Kenji slipped away more and more often. I figured he just wanted to be alone, then he didn't return at all. Soon after I received this letter. Kenji mostly stays quiet, but he has a temper even greater than his father's, and Kenshin knows this."

Yahiko stared into the fire. "So Kenshin thinks Kenji made someone mad at him."

"Perhaps. But there's more to it than that. Why kidnap for revenge when killing is much easier? Don't give me that look."

Yahiko shook his head and flexed his fingers to feel the cool sheath of the sakabatou. "It's like Karou said – the target is Kenshin, not Kenji."

"And my idiotic apprentice is laying the blame on himself, as usual," Hiko concluded. "The stress was evident when I saw him, narrowed eyes and weary posture. He tends to forget he's not as young or healthy as he used to be."

Gripping the sword decisively, Yahiko rose to his feet. "No, he's not."

"Leaving already?"

He looked down at the sword master. "I didn't come all this way to drag around."

"Suit yourself." Another gulp of sake. "Kenshin didn't say, but I have a good idea of where he is going next. When it comes to old grudges, there is one name in Kyoto that always pops up."

Yahiko's brown eyes widened. "Not him. I should have considered that guy before." He slung the sword over a shoulder and gave a slight bow. "I must be going."

"Kenshin shouldn't be too far ahead. Maybe you can catch up." Hiko straightened to his full great height. "But I wouldn't try to help when Kenshin finds the boy."

"Why not?"

The man turned with a flick of his cape and began walking into the darkness. "My baka deshi will find his baka son sooner than later. And I doubt you will want to be there when he does."

Yahiko stepped forward to inquire why, but Hiko Seijurou was already gone. The young man set out for the city to find a place to stay for the night. Tomorrow he would visit the police station and maybe get some answers.

***

He awoke early the next morning, washed his face and hands, and dressed quickly. The city was fairly calm, still rising with the sun, and Yahiko met few people on the streets. It had rained sometime during the night; his sandals stuck unpleasantly in the soggy mud, and a wispy fog still hung over the quiet buildings.

It was just as well. Yahiko wanted to keep as many bystanders as possible out of the way, especially in case any uncertain confrontations broke out. He had never fought against Saitou, but if that was what it took to get information about Kenji . . .

He reached the police station and made sure the sakabatou was adequately wrapped before going inside. A few officers looked up as he entered.

"Where can I find Goru Fujita?" he asked them, keeping his tone as light as possible.

One of them put aside whatever he had been doing and walked over. "Who are you? Do you have an appointment?"

"My name is Myojin Yahiko. He'll know who I am."

The officer looked doubtful, but headed down one of the halls. Minutes later he returned. "Yeah. This way." Yahiko followed him to an office near the back of the building. He was shown into a small room, where a man sat reading the newspaper.

Yahiko could not see the face belonging to the wiry body and long, slender fingers. He doubted Saitou had changed at all. The former Shinsen Gumi member was like a rocky mountain, never moving, never altering itself to fit the rest of the world that demanded new ideals and codes to live by. It was the only thing Yahiko had ever found honorable about the man – his refusal to bend or conform.

He stood there in silence, except for the click of the door shutting behind him. The man in the chair seemingly ignored him, flipping to the next black-typed page.

Yahiko shifted his feet. "Saitou–"

"The Battousai is not here."

He narrowed his gaze. "I'm not trying to find him."

"My mistake," was the smooth response. "I thought you were, since he decided to visit me last night."

Yahiko started. Last night? He should've known Kenshin would not have waited.

"Woke up my poor wife and children, he did," Saitou continued. "Really, we have our disagreements, but I thought he had better manners than that."

"Then you know why I'm here." Yahiko crossed his arms, glaring at the newspaper that still blocked his view. "Where is Kenji?"

Rustling with the elegant movement, the paper lowered, revealing the man behind it. Yahiko was a bit taken aback by the smears of gray that colored both sides of Saitou's neatly-combed black hair. "You are a bit too hasty with your accusation, boy." Despite his words, there was no heat in his voice.

"Maybe. But apparently Kenshin also thinks you're involved, if he came to see _you_."

"Oh, harsh."

"You know something."

Saitou shrugged narrow shoulders. "In this era, abduction serves no purpose. I merely work for the government now. What reasons do I have to kidnap or assist the kidnaping of someone?"

"When that someone is the son of the former Hitokiri Battousai," Yahiko said lowly. "I can think of plenty."

The man caught Yahiko's gaze and held it, golden eyes boring into his own as Yahiko refused to look away. Finally, Saitou turned his attention to a cigarette he pulled from his breast pocket. He lit the rolled piece of paper, then puffed a few breaths. "So you found me out."

Yahiko blinked. "What?"

Saitou blew a ring of smoke. "The Battousai knows now, so it makes no difference what I tell you. And I grow tired of prolonging this game." Inhale, exhale, as calm as a sated wolf. "I gave out some contacts of different men who were willing to do that kind of job. They took the boy."

Anger surfaced and heated Yahiko's glare. "Where did they take him?"

"_I_ don't know."

Yahiko stalked closer to the desk. "You're lying to me."

"Think so?" Pale lips drew back over white teeth. "Perhaps you have grown up from the brat who used to lose to a woman."

"Where is Kenji?" Yahiko asked again, fighting exasperation.

Saitou leaned back in his chair, folding his hands neatly across his thighs. "I really haven't a clue. The hired hands were instructed to keep that location secret from me."

"Then I've wasted my time here." Yahiko turned to go, feeling like he had gained nothing. Misao or Aoshi might know some rumor or bit of information; he could try there next.

Saitou's calm voice stopped him just before Yahiko touched the doorknob. "Oh. They did tell me one thing, and this I also related to the Battousai. If anyone came to rescue the boy, he would be at the place where a man surpasses another, yet not beats him." He tapped a few simmering ashes into the tray on his desk. "It sounds like mere philosophical nonsense to me, but perhaps your brain can find some use for it."

Yahiko frowned and left the room, not saying another word.

The cigarette was finished and joined its fellows in an array of used stubs and grayish ash. Saitou did not grin, but he came as close to grinning as he could without lifting his lips. Flicking his wrists, he brought the newspaper back up to eye level. Well, that had been interesting. The most fun he'd had in years.

***

The place where a man surpasses another, yet not beats him.

Yahiko hated riddles, always had. Karou and Sanosuke used to play games over his head, like saying one thing while meaning another or meaning something without saying much of anything at all. Kenshin used to do it too, but the redhead usually didn't even realize what he was doing, too caught up in his own thoughts to form a solid connection to his mouth.

Yahiko had tried to understand them; being the youngest of the group had not helped. By the time Yahiko was old enough to join in, Sanosuke was gone and a tiny scarlet-haired baby had been added to the world.

"Where a man surpasses, yet not beats," he mumbled to himself, trudging through the now bustling streets of Kyoto. "A man surpasses, not beats. _Surpasses_, not _beats._ Argh!" He slumped against a stand that sold artwork and propped his chin with one hand. "I can't figure this out on my own."

"You look like you need some inspiration," came a friendly voice.

Yahiko craned his neck to peer up at the owner of the booth. "What?"

The somewhat plump, cheerful-faced man stepped out from behind his cart. "This might interest you." He carried a sketched drawing between his thick fingers and presented it. "Mt. Hiei. Beautiful, isn't it?"

"I suppose," Yahiko said politely, glancing at the artwork. He had never cared much for the stuff.

"Have you been there?"

"Once. A long time ago . . ." He trailed off and took the picture from the man. Yahiko had ventured up there after the Shishio battle . . .

//_"I feel like I was left out of things this time."_

_"I'll show you then. The place where Kenshin fought Shishio."//_

Those memories seemed so old, when Sanosuke had taken him down to Shishio Makoto's hideaway, and they had seen the piles of melted rubble. Sanosuke seemed almost as troubled as Yahiko had felt.

_//"I really have to get beyond it."_

_"Beyond? You mean, beyond Saitou in power?"_

_"Yeah, but not just in power. I mean in everything."//_

And that was it. Sano found the answer he had searched for, a way to go beyond the Wolf of Mibu who had once beaten him, a way to surpass his foe.

Surpass.

Yahiko's eyes nearly swallowed his entire face. "The place where a man surpasses another yet not beats him!"

The shopkeeper staggered as Yahiko shoved the sketch into his hands. "Excuse me?"

"I'm so stupid!" Yahiko bowed to the man. "Thank you, ojiisan! I owe you!"

He turned and sprinted toward the mountains that stood in the distance. Of course. He should have understood the riddle to begin with – Kenji was on Mt. Hiei, the place where true strength was discovered.

Yahiko must have ran the entire way, the hidden sakabatou thumping against his back, his disheveled sandals flapping. Too much time had been wasted wandering about Kyoto. Karou would never forgive him if anything happened to Kenji. And to see Kenshin's face afterwards . . .

Bad scenarios kept passing through Yahiko's mind. If he could not even protect one teenaged boy, then how could he ever expect to raise a family with Tsubame and keep them safe?

Dammit! He should have taken the train to Kyoto, not the boat!

He was breathing heavily by the time he reached the cave looming ahead. He could detect the black emptiness within it that he knew led down to the abandoned factory. No one tried to stop him, no guards on the look out for any intruders. In fact, the whole area seemed peaceful and undisturbed.

A flash of scarlet and navy caught his attention. Someone sat on one of the boulders that framed the entrance to the cave, one leg drawn up and tucked under a rounded chin.

"Kenji."

The boy jerked as if he had not noticed Yahiko, then focused two smokey blue eyes. "Yahiko-san?"

"Kenji!" It was definitely him, Yahiko was sure. "Thank the gods I found you! Are you hurt? Are you all right?" He stopped a few yards away. The boy looked fine, free of any bruises or cuts, but a heaviness seemed to hang over him.

"I'm fine," Kenji told him.

Yahiko spread his hands. "Where is your father? Did he not come here? What happened?"

"My father . . ." The boy drifted his gaze to someplace amid the forest. "He left a few hours ago. He . . . rescued me."

"What happened?" Yahiko asked again, softer.

"Father came. The ones holding me, they . . . he used a stick he found outside the cave." Kenji brought his fists together and made slow swishing motions. "He fought them and they eventually ran away."

"Oh." Yahiko tried an easy smile that almost cracked his cheeks. "Oi, oi. Karou-chan is worried sick about you. Let's go. We can catch the evening train back home."

Yahiko began to walk down the mountain, trying to cheerfully chat about his little 'adventure' as he went. Kenji watched him with unreadable eyes.

The boy lowered his knee, touching his feet to the soggy ground, and the world paused.

***

He was tired; his steps had become slow and faltering, putting one foot before the other. The climb up Mt. Hiei was not a difficult one, but Kenshin had already traveled so far.

His hakama was ripped and stained with mud, as were his feet. His hair had loosened sometime – he did not remember exactly when – and now the bright strands hid his bowed face and curved about his small shoulders like licking flames.

It was unbelievable that Kenji had been kidnaped. The boy was bright and aware of all his surroundings, so Kenshin thought. At the age of two, he could tell when he was being watched; at eight he sensed that a neighbor's house was being robbed. Though Kenshin had never seen his son fight, he doubted Kenji could be easily beaten. The ones who took the boy must have shown much cunning and skill . . .

He raised weary violet eyes. A man stood down the path, blocking Kenshin's way, his face covered by a black hood.

"We have been waiting for you."

"Where is my son?" Kenshin said lowly.

"It is in his best interest if you come with me peacefully."

Kenshin glanced around the trees and could see they were alone, at least for now. "Very well."

The man said nothing else, and Kenshin followed him through the forest, staying at a distance. Would he find Kenji unharmed? Would the perpetrators pressure certain conditions for the boy's release? Would Kenshin be forced to use violence to save Kenji? Kenshin did not know.

They reached Shishio Makoto's abandoned hideout, the cave entrance that gaped open like a screaming mouth. A rustling in the brush distracted Kenshin for a moment, and when he looked back his guide had disappeared.

Kenshin suddenly threw his body to the side, his feet barely missing the chain that snapped across the wet earth. He landed hard, but upright, and his right fingers touched a fallen tree limb. He brought the stick up just as his assailant attacked him again, and Kenshin used the rough bark to deter the chain.

"Who are–" Kenshin gritted.

The other man, also disguised by a black hood, jumped back and fled into the woods. Kenshin picked himself off the ground, keeping a tight grip on the stick. If anyone else tried to ambush him, at least he could not be weaponless.

Kenji must be inside the cave, he must. Kenshin started forward again, wary that the morning haze made it difficult to see, and stepped into the dark entrance. He could hear and slightly feel the breaths of several people before him.

"I do not want a fight," he called. "I only came for my son."

A third hooded man materialized out of the black. "Battousai, welcome."

Kenshin tightened his grip on the stick. "My name is Himura Kenshin. If you have my son, Kenji, then I will take him back now. Otherwise, I have no other quarrel with you."

"_Take_ him back, will you?" the man sneered. "And you said you didn't want a fight."

"I don't."

The man swung out his arms wildly, gesturing. "Very well. Your son is here." He moved aside, letting Kenshin peer farther inside the cave. Torches were lit and tossed opaque light across the walls, revealing a lone boy sitting cross-legged on a blanket-covered rock.

"Kenji . . ." Kenshin hissed.

"You came, Father," said the boy, alto ringing low and cold in the damp air. "I almost thought you weren't."

"Of course I would come for you. I came as soon as I received a letter that said you were gone."

Kenji cut his eyes away. "We had to send a _letter_ to you," he said bitterly. "I knew you wouldn't be at home."

"We?" Kenshin took a quick look at the man who still stood by the entrance. Something was not right. Kenji seemed too relaxed, as if this whole scenario was expected . . . or maybe it was just that – a scenario . . .

"I thought you might have figured it out by now, Father." The boy scooted from the rock and walked right past Kenshin, not stopping until he reached the outside. He made some kind of signal and the three men vanished into the lifting fog. Only the two of them were left, father and son, facing each other.

"How long has it been since I saw you last?" Kenji asked softly. "It feels longer this time . . maybe seven months."

Kenshin watched him, trying to understand what was going on. "I came home several times. You were not there; they said you had gone to train with Shisho in Kyoto."

"I wanted to learn. My father would not teach me."

"You mother taught you Kamiya Kasshin Ryu when you were little." Wasn't that enough?

Kenji shook his head. "I wanted more."

"There is not more."

"Yes, there is. Hiko-sensei uses it and you–"

Violet widened. "The Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu is not meant to carry on into the new generation. I used it because I had to, but there is no need for such a capability now."

"_I_ need it." Kenji fisted a hand in the blue cloth covering his chest. "I need the strength that I don't have. Maybe you would know that if you were around more often, if I didn't have to dig up someone from the old ages to help me." He barked a short, humorless laugh. "Your _son_ had to stage his own abduction just so he could see you."

"Kenji, you–" Kenshin cut himself off; the stick he had forgotten he was carrying fell to the ground. "What have you done?" he whispered.

"Only what had to be done," Kenji murmured back.

"Had to be?" Kenshin echoed. "Do you have any idea . . . Shisho was worried. Your mother must be going out of her mind."

"Like you would know."

The former Hitokiri took a step forward. "I know that you have made a grave mistake. Those men do not work for free – they will be after whatever you promised them."

"Money. I have a job." Kenji narrowed his gaze. "I've been working for a long time now. My plan worked, didn't it? It got you here."

"At the expense of others," Kenshin countered. He could not believe the boy had been behind the whole kidnaping. It all made sense now – the well-placed letters, the tip from Saitou, the men who'd had no reason to fight with the 'legendary manslayer.' Even Hiko had considered some underlying scheme.

"What expense?" Kenji argued. "So you had to come save your son. Is that so difficult a thing for you?" A crack in his alto voice startled Kenshin who had never seen Kenji lose control of it. The boy continued fiercely. "You dedicate your life to those who suffer, but you forgot you even had a family!" He squeezed his eyes tightly shut. "What about _me_ and _my_ suffering? What about kaasan who sometimes sleeps on the porch at night so she can greet you if you ever come home?" Kenji struggled with his closing throat, and demanded, "Is the happiness of strangers more important to you than that of your own family?"

For once in his long life, Kenshin did not have the right words to use. If he denied Kenji's accusation, the flames feeding Kenji's anger would only rekindle; if he said it was all true, he would lie to both of them and the fragile tie of father and son between them would be lost. "Kenji . . ." he mourned regretfully.

The boy tensed and began to speak again. "Everyone tells me," he said brokenly, "to be like my father, but I don't even know what kind of man my father is." He raised heated eyes, flecks of gold appearing in his glare. "They speak of you as if you were already dead! Remember when Himura fought Enishi by the seaside? Remember when Himura learned the succession technique almost at the cost of his master's life? It's always 'remember when!'"

"Why, _Father_?" he implored, tone rising shrilly. "Why can't it be 'remember what Himura did last week or last year?' Or yesterday, or what he'll do _today_." With the last emphasis, he shoved blindly toward Kenshin, causing the older man to stumble and fall roughly on his back. Kenji, not caring where his momentum carried him, lost his balance and collapsed on top of his father, the father he tried so hard to hate.

Kenji shook, eyes shut firmly, unable to pull himself away. The rush of fury in his voice seemed to falter. "Everyone tells me – look, you ungrateful brat. Look at what he's done for you, and I look and- and- and I can't see _anything._"

Kenshin was frozen. The boy above him trembled. Kenshin hesitated, then brought his arms up and around the thin shoulders that quivered with too much contained emotion. "The world did not need my sword anymore," he said gently. "And once I stopped wielding it, the sakabatou was not meant to ever be used to fight again."

"Don't baby me," Kenji bit out, muffled against the man's chest. "I'm not the halfling you left behind."

"I know." Kenshin did not tighten his embrace, needing his son to stay and hear him out. If Kenji bolted, there would be no going back. "Why do you want to be stronger?" he inquired softly. When Kenji did not answer, Kenshin shifted. "Do you want wealth? Then that makes you no better than any yakuza. Do you want power to beat your enemies? Then you are not greater than Saitou who will not leave the ways of the past behind him. Do you want to help the people of this country?" Kenshin squeezed the still shoulders, splaying his pale, slender fingers across the young but firm muscles. "Then you are no wiser than the child who became a Hitokiri, who thought he could save by killing."

Kenji stiffened at that and let Kenshin slip a hand under his chin and lift his head. Father and son stared, both gazes shimmering, the violet slightly more warm than the blue.

"Kenji," Kenshin murmured. "You gain strength in order to become a better man. In this, you surpass all of us."

The boy looked away, jaw set with determination and clenched because of fear, fear that he had lived his life in the wrong mind set. His father was trying to instruct him, to undo the values that had based Kenji's fourteen years, and Kenji struggled not to automatically reject the words that came from the gentle tone.

Kenji was not a fool. He knew the old Battousai tales, and of the things accomplished with the sakabatou. He had also seen how Kenshin had beaten the hired man who used a chain, when the redhead carried a mere stick. Kenji understood enough about swordsmanship to realize the skill seeping from his father. But he barely conversed with the man, and doubt kept attempting to overcome Kenji.

"Father," he began slowly, detesting the way his bottom lip trembled. "How can I find that strength?" Where was it? Was it buried within a sword or hidden deep inside the past? What if Kenji never grasped it . . ?

Kenshin thought for a moment. "It comes to you. I do not know how, but it does, and you will recognize it. When you can distinguish right and wrong, that is when you have found true strength." He stroked the reddish hair once, hair slightly darker and more tamed than his own. He did not want to push any affection on the boy, though Kenji did not shift away from his fingers. "But a warning, Kenji – if you have more strength than you are supposed to, then you will suffer your entire life." He hesitated. "Shisho is a good example."

Kenji gave a chortle, the humor surprising Kenshin. "Hiko-sensei once told me the exact same thing. Except he included you in that example." He added almost inaudibly, "You suffered too, didn't you. So much you didn't wish for me to see it."

A small smile. "Maybe." Kenshin nudged the boy. "The sun has fully risen and I have to let everyone know you are unharmed."

"H-hai." Rising to his feet, Kenji dusted himself off and straightened his clothing. Then he realized Kenshin seemed to be having trouble standing; the man was grasping his chest, a strained expression on his usually docile face. Kenji stared at him for not more than a few seconds, noticing the fine wrinkles creasing his mouth and eyes and the flecks of lighter hair among the orange-red. Kenji bent and stretched out his arm, offering small yet sure fingers.

Kenshin raised his head and clutched those fingers, letting Kenji pull him up. Kenji waited until his father was steady, then released him. The boy said nothing; nothing needed to be said.

"I am going to your mother first," Kenshin finally broke the silence. "And then I must . . ."

Kenji nodded, pushing back a twinge of disappointment. "You must." Because Saitou was not the only man who refused to leave the past alone, who struggled to complete the unfinished and atone for actions made over two decades ago.

"Yahiko was following me," Kenshin added, fondness sparkling his eyes. "Would you wait for him to come here?"

"Yahiko-san?" Kenji wondered. "He's . . . Yes, I will."

"He will be relieved to see you." Kenshin lifted his lips in a shadow of a smile. He tucked his arms inside the sleeves of his kimono, turning away.

Kenji stepped forward. "Father–"

In one fluid motion, Kenshin produced a small purse and tossed it to Kenji. It jingled as coins brushed together. Kenji was speechless.

"I normally do not accept gifts from those I can aid," Kenshin told the boy. "But sometimes it is difficult to say no. I still do not agree with what you did, Kenji, but . . . I understand why you did and I am at fault. That is nothing much, but it might help."

"Arigatou," Kenji murmured.

Kenshin put his back to the boy, focusing his eyes on the city of memories spread across the distance. "Kenji," he said, so soft that it was almost lost among the slight breeze. "The strength that you seek can only be found within yourself. You are old enough to start deciding _for yourself _what is right and what is wrong. No one can choose for you – not your mother, not Yahiko or Shisho." He twisted to look over his shoulder. "And not me."

The rush of silence filled Kenji's ears. He stood helpless as Kenshin began to walk toward Kyoto, knowing once the man disappeared over the hill, Kenji would never complete what he set out to do. Something broke inside the boy, an urge to gain what he desperately yearned for, and he cupped his hands to his mouth. "You– You've always been my father!"

Kenshin paused. Whatever his expression, Kenji could not tell. "And you," was the soft response, "will always be my son."

Kenji watched his father until the bright red hair vanished beneath the horizon. One meeting could not fix fourteen years of mistakes, fourteen years of waiting to meet the man he had heard about.

But the scars could begin to mend themselves. They could . . .

***

The world moved again.

"Kenji. _Kenji_."

Kenji blinked, setting his feet fully upon the ground. "Sorry, Yahiko-san. I must have blanked for a moment."

"I've been calling your name." Yahiko had stopped walking once he realized that Kenji was not following him. "Are you all right?"

Blue eyes that had been unreadable were now full of emotion. "No," Kenji answered truthfully. "But I will be. One day, I will."

Yahiko raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure nothing else happened? That cave is a strange place. It changes people, makes them start to think that a man is more than his skill with a sword." He patted the parcel strapped to his back. "There are more important things, Kenji, than skill." Yahiko shook his head, lips lifting slightly. "I'm still too young to be so sentimental, ne? Come on or we'll miss the train."

Kenji took one step, did not move further. "I'm sorry, Yahiko-san," he murmured.

Yahiko frowned. "What is it?"

The boy cleared his throat and when he began again, his voice was full and steady. "I'm sorry," he repeated, "but I can't go home yet."

"Kenji–"

"When the day comes that my father is ready to go back, go back for good, then . . . then so will I."

Yahiko almost argued, then sighed. "It's your choice, of course. Kenji, Kenshin won't last forever, but I think you already know that. I'll take a trip to Kyoto, when the day you speak of arrives."

"Agreed. Thank you, Yahiko-san."

Yahiko dipped his head, turned, and forced his feet to move.

What a waste of a trip, Yahiko thought, concentrating on the scuffing noise of his sandals. Had he even been needed at all? Kenshin had managed to track down Kenji and save him much quicker than Yahiko, and Kenshin probably traveled a much greater distance as well.

Yahiko liked Kenji. Sure, the redhead had a flaring temper and a knack for getting into trouble . . . but he strived to make something of himself, and he listened whenever Yahiko tried to share a bit of learned wisdom. Kenji wanted to learn what he could not learn from experience, as the age of swords had long since disappeared . . . Yahiko had been through more battles in his first fifteen years than Kenji would probably go through his entire life.

Yahiko would not forget, though. He would not forget listening to Sanosuke tell about how he acquired his 'Sagara' surname. He would not forget the sound of the sakabatou clanging against another sword, metal scraping upon metal. He would not forget what Kenshin had told him as Yahiko stared up into his face, as Kenshin bent to hand him the gift that Kenji had not been ready for – 'along with the sakabatou, I entrust the ideal to you.'

_Had_ he been needed . . ?

He glanced up the rising slope and saw the boy still standing under the stretching trees, staring into the forest where his father had no doubt vanished earlier. As Yahiko watched, the boy's shoulders seemed to straighten, head held higher than before, arms wrapped round his torso. It would not be long until Yahiko could pass his ideals, Kenshin's ideals, to another . . .

No, Yahiko had not been needed. But he was glad he made the journey, all the same.

*owari*

Not too bad, maybe? ^^

All in all, the main reason I wrote this was to tie up the loose ends and feelings between Kenshin and Kenji. It bothered me that we didn't get to see them make any kind of peace with each other, so tried to bring a little bit of that to them. As many other RK fans have stated when the Seishouhen OAV came out - Kenji probably grew up hearing all these things about his 'wonderful' father without actually seeing them. ::shakes head:: And I think Kenshin was just too scared that he'd mess up his son.

I also had not ever cared much for Yahiko, and it surprised me when he decided to pop in and not ever leave the fic. Many thanks to my otouto for encouraging me with the Saitou part as well, and to Mina for always asking me how the fic was going (whether it was actually 'going' or not ^^).

Ta ta, RK fandom! Sayonara, Kenshin, and many thanks. 


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